Step lively, son!" "Who is going ?" [Illustration: "'Me lord, the taxi waits.'"] "One dream, one vision, one hallucination--" he wafted three kisses from his gloved finger tips in the general direction of Broadway--"and you, and Samuel, and I.Me lord, the taxi waits!" "Now, Harry, I'm not feeling particularly cheerful--" "But you will, dear friend; you will soon be feeling the Fifty-seven Varieties of cheerfulness.

All kinds of society will be at the Gigolette--good, bad, fashionable, semi-fashionable--all imbued with the intellectual and commendable curiosity to see somebody 'start something.' And," he added, modestly, "Sam and I are going to see what can be accomplished--" "No; I won't go--" But they fell upon him and fairly slid him into a taxi, beckoning two other similar vehicles to follow in procession.
"Now, dearie," simpered Sam, "don't you feel better ?" Neville laughed and smoothed out the nap of his top hat.
They made three stops at three imposing looking apartment hotels between Sixth Avenue and Broadway--The Daisy, The Gwendolyn, The Sans Souci--where negro porters and hallboys were gorgeously conspicuous and the clerk at the desk seemed to be unusually popular with the guests.
And after every stop there ensued a shifting of passengers in the taxicabs, until Neville found himself occupying the rear taxi in the procession accompanied by a lively young lady in pink silk and swansdown--a piquant face and pretty figure, white and smooth and inclined to a plumpness so far successfully contended with by her corset maker.
"I have on my very oldest gown," she explained with violet-eyed animation, patting her freshly dressed hair with two smooth little hands loaded with diamonds and turquoises.

"I'm afraid somebody will start something and then they'll throw confetti, and somebody will think it's funny to aim champagne corks at you.

So I've come prepared," she added, looking up at him with a challenge to deny her beauty.

"By the way," she said, "I'm Mazie Gray.